I had a hard time sleeping last night. My hips were paining me bad and somehow I've refucked-up a foot problem and when I got up to go pee it throbbed and throbbed when I got back in the bed.
I laid there wondering...what's the point?
Pain just sucks.
It's gray today. It's chilly. It's another day and the wind kicks up and blows the magnolia leaves around and it sounds like the petticoats of dancing skeletons. I just want to lay on the couch and watch crappy TV but I've even lost my interest in crappy TV. All those real housewives in their pointy stiletto heels they wear everywhere, even to lunch (and I complain about having to wear a bra) and they walk like the bound-foot noblewomen of China in the olden days, that stupid woman on the Shahs of LA who is trying to market and sell diamond water who saged the fucking factory while the workers stood around and looked baffled and embarrassed. Don't even get me started on Phil Robertson and his Bible and his sex talk.
Well, maybe Jeff Lewis is on. I still love Jeff Lewis.
But you know I'm not going to lay on the couch and watch crappy TV or any other sort of TV. I'm going to do laundry and go to town to the Costco and take my car in for Mr. Moon to detail because it's time, it's time to sell the Prius and he has another car lined up for me and I'm the luckiest woman, I am, I know it and I need to shut the fuck up. I have the money to go to the Costco to buy vast quantities of mixed nuts and frozen organic blueberries and pecans and pine nuts and I told Lis that this year I will not be buying cheese for the pre-Thanksgiving party at the Costco because I did that last year and what seemed like a reasonable amount of cheese for the pre-Thanksgiving party while I was in the vast enormity of the Costco turned out to be a vast enormity of cheese in my kitchen and I laughed and laughed as I unwrapped and sliced it and I swear, I had cheese through Easter.
And not only do I have all of that, I have grandsons to roll around the Costco, to make laugh by going around the corners way too fast in the carts which are designed to be big enough to hold vast enormities of cheese while making dramatic sound-effect noises to go with the too-fastness. "You're silly," Owen told me the other day and that was a sparkling jewel of a compliment in my book.
With age comes a letting-go of dignity or perhaps I never had any to begin with. Fuck dignity.
Bring on the clowns whose bad feet, aching hips, gritchy shoulders all result from rolling out of the clown car too many times, hitting the ground running, day after day in the big top, the Big Top, the Show, the show must go on and the ring master has taken the day off, the horses are running in circles without riders, the elephants are sitting on tiny mice for fun, the tightrope walkers aren't walking, they are just sitting up there, eating their lunches on the wire, ignoring the crowds below and the trapeze artist deliberately misses the reaching hands of her mortal enemy, laughs like a crazy woman as the enemy drops, drops, drops to land without any dignity whatsoever in the net below and the crowd boos and the lions roar and their trainers cower in corners, their jungle-jim outfits wrinkled and stained and that's what it feels like for me today, the circus is in town and it is not the circus you thought you signed up for but it is the circus nonetheless and so you go dig out your costume, put on your make-up, try to avoid the elephant shit while you step as daintily as you can to the clown car so you can get in then get out again, roll with the punches, make funny noises, make 'em laugh, make 'em laugh, make 'em laugh.